


Protection of my Sister

by qthelights



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode: s02e06 No Exit, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-11-05
Updated: 2006-11-05
Packaged: 2017-10-30 05:48:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qthelights/pseuds/qthelights
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean thinks of her as a younger sister, mostly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protection of my Sister

Against his better judgement, he’d let her stay.

“You shouldn’t lie to your mom,” he’d snipped at her.

Of course, now he had to look after her. Or face Ellen. 

Yeah, nothing could happen to her. 

As if he didn’t have enough to do making sure Sam survived tying his shoelaces each day, now he had to baby-sit ‘little sis’ too? 

Shoulda just turned her in. 

Actually, he wasn’t quite sure why he didn’t. When he’d answered his phone he was fully committed to his annoyance. She’d see whose boxers weren’t in a twist. He was fully ready to deal with the situation and send her ass back to the roadhouse.

So much so that he gloated this intention, in the way a big brother does, at her in a stage whisper, palm cradling the mic of the phone.

She’d hissy-fitted him right back. Naturally.

So why he’d then said no, he hadn’t seen any wayward daughters, he wasn’t quite sure. He thought maybe he just wanted to give the kid a break. Let her have her little adventure. He was there to make sure nothing happened. Then he’d march her straight back home to mom.

The grin she’d given him as he hung-up, preceded by a fleeting glimmer of…something, almost made him call Ellen right back then and there.

***

“So, are you gonna buy me dinner?” she’d asked petulantly afterwards.

The answer, when he questioned why, almost stopped him in his tracks. 

“It’s just if you’re gonna ride me this close it’s only decent you buy me dinner.”

“Oh that’s hilarious,” was all he could think to say. Stock standard sibling answer. Not much more sophisticated than ‘ha, ha’.

And when she said she was twisted, implied she was just like him, he didn’t believe her. She couldn’t sell it. She was just a kid with grand delusions.

That’s all.

***

He woke the next morning, contorted and aching from the night on a chair, to find Sam gone and Jo all sass.

“Morning Princess.”

Sass with a knife.

Annoying.

“How’d you sleep on that big soft bed?” he grumbled, making his way over to her at the table.

“I didn’t,” she paused. Twirled the knife between her fingers. “Just been going over everything.” 

A look up, to see a reaction? To emphasize a statement? And then quickly she glanced back down at the papers and photographs spread in front of her.

Huh. He paused. All night. Took another look at her.

Maybe she _was_ serious... 

And if she were serious, then she was gonna need a bigger knife.

She asked about his father. And he balked, quietly, prepared to wall intrusive questions off. Only, there was something in the look she was giving him. Something open. Something needing. 

So he let her in. Told her something, just one little thing, from his secrets. 

And she told him one of hers. So similar it stabbed at him as if she were talking about his father.

She explained, and challenged him to defy her. “Now tell me,” she met his gaze, held it. “What’s wrong with that?”

And he readied to retort. But somewhere in the tangles of the conversation he’d lost the brotherly urge to put her back in her place. 

“Nothing,” he answered.

***

He stopped when the passage narrowed and expected her to do the same. She didn’t. Instead she wedged herself between the rocky wall, and well, a hard place. And he was suddenly reminded, as the warm length of her body pressed him back into the wall, that she was, in fact, very much _not_ his sister.

No…not at all. 

He grunted, not sure what to do about the sudden complication to his world view. 

“Shoulda cleaned the pipes,” he joked, his defence mechanism, asking to be reprimanded. Needing to get his thoughts back where they were supposed to be. 

The elbow in his stomach, clearly deserved, only made him twitch more. Made him need to fight the urge to slip his arms forward and pull her curves back into him further. Somehow he’d slipped back to when they first met at the roadhouse. When he’d wanted to hit on her so fast he told her that her head would spin. 

And then Ellen…she’d been a mom. A scary mom. And he wanted her to be a mom. But that made Jo a daughter. Someone’s child. A kid sister.

Only, when he actually thought about it, she wasn’t.

He breathed in, and sharply out. Tried to reign her in, only he couldn’t formulate a reason that merged his need to protect her with his desire to take her up against the wall.

So she shuffled sideways away from him into the dark wall cavity. 

And he let her go, because he wasn’t so sure she was a child anymore.

***

She was clearly terrified when he pulled her out of the iron tomb. It wasn’t the fright of a child in too deep. It was simple recognition of reality. Or the lack thereof.

“You okay?” he asked grimly, taking in the damp hair plastered to her face, the dirt smudged into her hands.

“I’ve been better,” she gasped, a little too quickly, a little too loudly. “Let’s get the hell out of here before he comes back!”

He met her eyes, and kept her gaze firmly, “Actually…I don’t think you’re leaving here just yet.”

Disbelief, “What?”

“Remember when I said you being bait was a bad plan? Now it’s kinda the only one we’ve got.”

He glanced at Sam for confirmation that this was the right decision. A shrug. A ‘guess so’. Maybe.

He looked back at Jo, standing defiantly even while the tremors of adrenaline and fear snaked down her body. He knew it was okay.

***

She didn’t need his permission to chase monsters.

Hadn’t asked for it when, high on the afterglow of success, she’d pushed him up against the door the second it closed behind them.

She’d grinned at him, that same infuriating, know-it-all grin, when he helped her pull his shirt over his head. When she knew that she’d won. 

Her fingernails had dug into his chest as his lips descended on her, wiping the smugness away from the corners of her mouth and replacing it with a muted whimper.

She’d gone with it, for a moment, and then she’d regained control, breaking away from his mouth, leaving him wanting and frustrated. Her lips had moved down his throat, further to trace silver scars on his chest. Licking. Owning.

Later, she wrapped her thighs around his hips and pulled him deeper. Moaned into the heat of his neck.

And he obliged the insistent tug of her hands on his waist, her heels digging into the back of his calves. Because she didn’t need his protection. 

And she definitely wasn’t his sister.


End file.
